


my right hand man

by cometic



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Clothing Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Grinding, Grooming, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Manipulation, Masturbation, Overstimulation, Power Imbalance, Rape Fantasy, Scent Kink, Smut, Statutory Rape, Thighfucking, Underage Sex, intentional undercase, still very fucked up regardless, tommy goes from 10 to 13, wilbur goes from 18 to 21, wilbur has fucked up fantasies but everything that actually happens is ''con''
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cometic/pseuds/cometic
Summary: wilbur finds a way to get what he's always wanted.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 188





	my right hand man

wilbur remembers meeting tommy. 

those eyes so full of youth, glistening as they looked up at wilbur, enamored. he can recount, in explicit detail, the way tommy stumbled into wilbur’s solitary trek in the woods. tommy had staggered back - scratched knees wobbling as they clambered into the dirt, his hands sticky with tree sap and grime. 

shifting the guitar strap so it sat on his back, wilbur had crouched down. he’d gently wrapped his hand around one of tommy’s wrists, clicking his tongue contentedly when it was too small to reach either side of his grip. tommy had whimpered. 

his attention then turned to the smaller’s face. tommy’s lips pursed so cutely, before they’d fallen loose for a shaky breath and sucked air into his cheeks, the skin colored a deep pink after hours in the sun. he’d squirmed under the attention, gaze shifting to the bleeding skin just beneath the folds of his shorts. 

gentle, wilbur had fished his pack of bandaids out and pressed one into the curve of tommy’s knee. in his peripheral vision, he’d watched tommy peer at him. caution slowly left tommy’s face. instead, a beam---not quite complete yet, teeth still growing in---stretched across his features, and wilbur had melted like never before. 

and tommy, unkempt and soft and perfect, had _offered_ wilbur his name and age, like a vocal display of his innocence. 

after wilbur made his introduction, tommy had stood back up. full of vigor, he’d pulled wilbur along by his index finger. tommy led him right down a gravelly path to his camp. whilst heading there, tommy had rambled about the pastures to the north and the animals local to the area, of bees he could mind control and fuck, fuck, fuck, wilbur’s life was over the minute he met tommy. 

he’d never laughed as hard before, never been so endeared by an accent that was clunky and awkward, never been so hard so quick since his formative years spent rutting into his bedroom pillow. _perfect_ , wilbur had thought. he spared a peek at the younger, who swung their conjoined hands together. then he exhaled, throat suddenly parched. _perfect_. 

—

not long after, he teaches tommy how to swear.

it’s the simplest thing. once it starts they can’t stop spilling from tommy’s mouth; chest puffing out whenever he lets his mindless anger rip from his throat. tommy boasts about how natural it is for him, because he’s a big man (and _definitely_ not a child). 

thinking about that fact is dangerous. because right after that wilbur takes tommy to technoblade, who in turn teaches him how to fight, and tommy again declares his maturity. tommy brags about it constantly, to tubbo’s detriment, because tubbo’s parents won’t train him yet since he’s too young. tommy whispers to wilbur that it’s especially embarrassing since tubbo is eleven while tommy’s still technically ten. 

wilbur wonders where tommy’s parents are. there’s probably something wrong in how wilbur wishes tommy is far, far away from their reach.

since they never show up, he just has to theorize it's their negligence that spurs tommy on. after all, tommy must have effectively raised himself. so when wilbur provides anything of an adult nature, tommy seizes it. he does it when wilbur lets him have a sip of his wine. he does it when wilbur plays a song for him, one where half of the sex jokes fly over his head and half do not. tommy does it when wilbur takes it upon himself to give tommy ‘the talk’. 

he doesn’t even _blink_ when wilbur rests his hand on his thigh. 

that’s the kicker, isn’t it? half of the time, wilbur doesn’t even notice he’s doing it - it just feels so natural to lay his hand there. either that, or just at tommy’s hip, almost cupping what’s below.

but it isn’t just there. he always finds a way to keep his hands on tommy. he’ll pull tommy close to his chest, burying his head in the other’s nest of hair, inhaling quietly. at night, when he can’t sleep, he’ll walk into tommy’s room and run his thumb over his mouth. 

if tommy attributes waking up with moist lips to being a natural drooler, then wilbur won’t correct him.

better yet, tommy leans into his touch, like a silent invitation for more. wilbur might even go as far to say tommy is soliciting him. how else could tommy know nothing of wilbur’s desires, yet know just how close he has to tilt forward in order to test wilbur’s self control? 

so when tommy turns eleven, wilbur introduces casual kisses. on the back of his head, or his temples, or on his cheek - almost, _almost_ at the corner of tommy’s mouth, but none right where wilbur wants them to be. it’s a small compensation when he’s leading tommy through the woods—walking backwards while the tips of his fingers hold tommy’s—and tommy presses an embarrassed kiss next to his ear.

he’s never grinned so openly. tommy is such a beautiful boy and yet it’s wilbur he looks up to, wilbur he craves. 

eventually, their trail leads to a clearing. it’s pretty, wilbur notes, the fauna entwined around the pond and the trees. he wouldn’t mind setting up camp there. 

wilbur starts building a van.

\---

the clothes have tempted wilbur ever since tommy moved in. 

tommy all but begged wilbur to let him live in the van. wilbur caved in once tommy turned twelve, figuring if tommy’s _so_ _desperate_ for it, he’ll give him what he wants. 

even if he’s annoying, wilbur can’t say he has regrets. especially since he’s in control of so much of tommy’s life, now. he knows where tommy goes, where tommy keeps his stuff, where he sleeps. he is also notably in control of their laundry. 

as tommy grows into himself, his clothes need to be washed more. usually, wilbur doesn’t particularly care, but this one-- this _one_ particular article of clothing smelt so strongly of tommy he pressed it to his nose and breathed in, unabashed. with lidded eyes, he’d stuffed it in a random drawer for later use. 

he knows the smell won’t last forever. throughout his day, he can hear the clock ticking, the urge to use it burning on his neck. so once he ushers tommy to go hunting for them, he rinses his hands off and opens the drawer. 

again, he lifts it, tentative, and buries his nose in it. _fuck_ , he thinks, making an immediate turn and collapsing onto the bed. his hand fumbles for his buckle and lazily flicks it open, then digging into his underwear and pulling out his cock. tommy’s smell floods his senses until it’s all he can think about, writhing into the hand as his imagination runs wild.

his mind returns to that first meeting. he imagines pressing tommy’s face into the dirt and _taking_ him, thinks about tommy’s cute little giggle gurgled around his dick, how prettily wilbur’s pre would run down tommy’s chin. 

another strong intake of tommy’s clothing sends him spiraling, bucking his hips into the air, thinking about teasing tommy’s pink hole with his finger until he cries, inconsolable with the need for wilbur to slide his dick inside. his shaking thighs would hold his ass in the air, prideful and compliant. wilbur would make it impossible for tommy to escape his sloppy rutting, even when his thighs try to clamp themselves shut around his dick, whimpering _it’s too much_. 

it’d look so cute, his tiny cock dribbling cum below him, spurting out what little his body had left after wilbur wrung a third orgasm out of him. with cheeks puffy and wet after crying, teary-eyes dazed, he’d thank wilbur over and over, fucked out of his mind, and wilbur would lean down and sniff his neck and tommy would _let_ him. 

the thought of tommy sniffling makes wilbur’s dick twitch in his hand. he remembers the first time he heard tommy cry, and he’d wanted to do the exact same thing then, too. wanted to take tommy and make him beg and beg and beg.

he takes some time to calm down and repositions himself. wilbur rests his head on tommy’s clothing with his hips in the air, a pillow sat underneath him.

from there, it’s easy. eyes fluttered shut, he recalls the feeling of tommy’s body underneath him, and his hips start stuttering in the pillow’s direction. the bed creaks as wilbur thrusts and thrusts, moans filling the room as he drowns in tommy’s scent, imagining the boy fucked dumb on his cock, pleading, begging, hole loose and sweat coloring his hairline, and wilbur would breathe fucking deep and smell tommy and sex and wilbur’s cum splattered on his cheek--

wilbur finishes into the pillow, stilling before rolling over on his side. 

heart palpitating, he breathes through his mouth. the room’s stiflingly warm, and his good pillow is ruined, but all he can think about is how the fuck he’s going to make this a reality. 

\--- 

wilbur is given, hell, _handed_ the answer. 

their young nation needs a ruler. as her creator, wilbur easily takes the mantle, writing constitutions into existence and donning his presidential garb. given their infamous brotherly dynamic (and that thought makes him laugh, makes his heart strain at how beautifully naive his tommy is), it only makes sense for tommy to be at his side as his confidante. 

tommy is oh-so desperate to prove himself as well. if no one sees anything wrong with tommy willing to lay down his life for l’manberg, then surely there’s nothing wrong with asking anything of tommy. 

so he calls tommy into his office. 

“wilbur!” tommy rushes through the door, and it slams shut behind him. his body is absolutely swallowed by his uniform, even at thirteen years old. 

“tommy,” wilbur says back, voice completely even. he straightens in his chair. 

for the most part, tommy doesn’t seem to catch wilbur’s formality, or if he does, doesn’t seem to care. wilbur hopes for his sake he figures it out sooner rather than later.

grinning, tommy turns a chair around and straddles it when he sits down. “so, what’s the reason for this meeting? gonna do some _crimes_? some drugs?”

“no.” wilbur looks at him pointedly. “i thought i told you that today we’re doing official business.”

“well yeah, but i didn’t expect you to be all serious about it.” at another look, tommy sighs, sitting properly in his chair. “fine. what do you want?”

he leans back. “do you know what the job of a right hand man is, tommy?” 

“to be at your side and kick ass and shit,” tommy supplies rather mindlessly. that’s fine. his mind isn’t what he’s here for.

“not quite. your job is to alleviate my stress, however possible.” 

nodding, tommy kicks his legs in the chair. he’s starting to get bored, wilbur guesses. not for long. “yeah, yeah, that too. how can i uh- _llev_ iate your stress big man?” 

“ehh, it’s really quite simple,” wilbur says, feigning casualness. “i just need you to scratch an itch.” 

“scratch an itch?”

wilbur hums in confirmation. “i’ve been lonely recently, running a country and all that. figured you could help. if you could just sit on my lap for me?”

tommy’s eyes glint warily. despite this, tommy stands and makes his way around wilbur’s desk. he stops in front of wilbur awkwardly. “so you just want me to… to cuddle with you or some shit?”

“something like that.” seeing tommy’s nervousness, he sends him a small smile and pats his own thigh. it takes a second for tommy to cave and crawl on top of wilbur, and he sits with his legs on either side of wilbur’s thighs. 

naturally, wilbur’s hands settle on tommy’s lower body. tommy’s gaze follows his hands and stays down, landing on the tent in wilbur’s pants. his breath hitches. “you’re hard,” he says, realization taking root in his voice. “you want to fuck me!” he further accuses.

“i don’t want to fuck you—“ the younger knits his eyebrows together— “but i do want you to help me get off.” immediately, tommy tenses, fingers tangling themselves together. 

“but i’m a - well, i’m not a kid, but—“

“but what? it’s exactly as you said. you’ve fought hard in war; you deserve to be treated like an adult,” he says, firm. tommy seems tentatively validated by wilbur’s words, however intimidated he is by the request. wilbur pushes further. “what’s going on, man?”

he watches tommy’s larynx bob up and down. “nothing! nothing, it’s just…” 

“ _just..._? do you care about this nation or not, tommy?” wilbur asks, cutting to the chase. at tommy’s silence, he continues, lowly, “...do i need to find another right hand man?”

“no!” tommy yells instinctually, then bowing his head. “you don’t need to. i swear i’m able to do this, i can do anything. i, er—“ he looks embarrassed. “i might need help though,” he finishes, quieter than before. 

_there he goes_. as a series of ‘aww’s spill out of wilbur’s mouth, tommy elects to hide his face in wilbur’s neck. delighted, he pets along the boy’s spine. “good boy.”

they lay there for a minute. wilbur tilts his head towards tommy’s. tommy’s gaze shifts away, like an intimidated animal. his heart burns fondly at the sight of loud, boisterous tommy compliant just for him. “come on, don’t be so nervous. it’ll be fun - i’ll make you feel good, and you can make me proud, yeah?”

tommy slowly pulls his head back. “i guess,” he says, biting his lip. “will it actually feel good?”

laughing softly, wilbur tucks a loose curl of tommy’s behind his ear. “obviously. you’ve probably only ever done it by yourself, wait until you do it with a partner.” his hands slide down tommy’s sides and cup his ass. he pulls him further forward, forcing a light grinding motion when their bodies meet. “you haven’t done this with anyone before, have you?”

“n- with, with all the women,” tommy squeaks out, reddened skin peeking out underneath his side swept hair. if wilbur’s right, his voice might have even cracked - ah, to be thirteen. 

“oh?” wilbur teases, letting go so tommy can take some of the initiative. the reward is immediate, tommy clumsily imitating wilbur’s movements, swallowing down gasps. “show me how it’s done then.”

hands fisted awkwardly in wilbur’s uniform, tommy grows bolder in his chase for friction. his eyes are trained on wilbur the whole time, sometimes faltering slightly, before he picks back up with renewed determination. _aw, he’s looking for my approval,_ wilbur purrs internally, undoing the buttons on tommy’s shirt. since tommy is doing so good, he’ll give him what he wants; wilbur moans. 

and tommy full on _whimpers_ because of it - god, he’s so perfect, like every part of him was made for wilbur, adorable and lithe and so utterly dependent on him for attention, eyes always searching for if big brother approves. wilbur can’t stop thinking about just how good tommy is for him, _just_ how much love tommy holds for wilbur, willing to do anything for the man he idolizes so much, absolutely _anything_.

eventually the grinding gets repetitive, so he crooks his fingers under tommy’s chin and makes their lips meet. he kisses him softly, ignoring the younger’s inexperience in favor of suckling on his bottom lip, then slipping his tongue into the other’s mouth. wilbur peeks his eyes open and he can tell by the way tommy’s nose scrunches that he’s grossed out, but continues to lick into his little mouth anyway, mapping out the wet cavern with his tongue. 

he almost moans from that alone. tommy tastes oh-so sweet, like he’s always dreamed. 

with a pleased sigh, wilbur pulls away and finishes undoing tommy’s shirt. at this point tommy has stopped, which makes his shirt easier to slip off and discard haphazardly. he gestures for tommy to do the same with the rest of his uniform. 

in his excitement, tommy keeps fumbling with his clothes, so wilbur has to help tommy get undressed. before proper resettling down on wilbur’s lap, tommy reaches for his hat. wilbur stops him. 

“keep it,” he says, more _commands_ , as he fixes it further on tommy’s head. its size shows with the way it sinks deep in tommy’s hair, almost at his eyebrows, colossal in comparison to tommy’s slim frame. wilbur pushes his thumb in tommy’s mouth so all he can do is nod.

he keeps tommy sucking on his thumb while he pretends to think about what they should do next. wilbur knows exactly what he’s going to do; he’s going to pull a bottle of lotion out and smear it all over his thighs, then make tommy bounce on his lap with wilbur’s cock in-between his legs. he’s known for _months._

after he’s kept tommy waiting long enough—enough that the boy is squirming from the loss of action—he presses his hand to tommy’s face lovingly, briefly, before unbuckling his belt. wilbur takes off just enough to free his dick, but remains fully clothed otherwise.

“why am i the only one naked?” tommy complains. a laugh-turned-pant leaves wilbur’s lips. 

“because it’s your _job_ , tommy, not mine,” he answers. wilbur places a light, slow kiss to tommy’s unmarked neck. he’ll fix that later. 

grumbling just a little, tommy shifts on wilbur’s lap. his bare ass digs further into his thigh and it takes all of wilbur’s self-control not to curl a finger inside tommy. but he’s so, so close, and the temptation of fucking him on just one digit weakens with reassurance of what’s to come later. 

or, what’s to come now. 

wilbur rolls the desk cabinet open and pulls out lotion. tommy easily turns when wilbur’s hands shepherd him around, until his cock is right up against tommy’s hole, tip almost catching on its rim. 

slowly, he lathers the lotion on the insides of tommy’s thigh. his hands show no care for tommy’s protesting moans as he spreads his thighs apart while tommy shakes, red and hard.

it’s then wilbur sits tommy down on his dick, watching his flushed head leak from in-between his slicked thighs. 

“i want you to close your legs as tight as you can,” he murmurs into tommy’s neck. “and what i want you to do next is simple, doesn’t require much expertise at all — it’s called thighfucking. you can do that for me, yeah?” 

“mhm,” tommy whines, sounding a bit distant as he closes his legs. wilbur’s vision already whites-out from the pressure and he fucks up into tommy on impulse. the boy spasms so cutely, hands trying to hold himself down, and his teeth tug on his lips. “a-ah… wilby, you’re right against me…”

“wilby?” his hands dig into tommy’s sides as he rocks him up and down, focused solely on using tommy as a cocksleeve. “you’re already this much of a mess, mm?”

tommy falls on his cock again, baring his neck and laying his head on wilbur’s shoulder, keening. his mouth drops open and he nods, hand reaching for his dick.

“ah-ah,” wilbur tuts, taking tommy’s hands and pinning them to where he’s manhandling him. he feels his cock brush up against the younger’s and they both moan in sync, tommy’s skin slapping hard against his jeans. “you’ve got a job to focus on.” 

nodding, tommy tries to roll his hips whilst in his lap, groans turning frustrated as his dick goes neglected. meanwhile wilbur mouths at the junction of tommy’s neck and shoulder, inhaling the sweat that’s slipping down tommy’s hairline and _fuck_ tommy’s going to be the death of him. 

because that’s what’s happening, isn’t it, he thinks as he bucks, bucks up into tommy, creating a mess of the smaller’s skin and feeling the stickiness lightly stain his jeans and not even _caring_ , because tommy’s his and willing, and now that he’s waited all this time he’s _never_ letting go, going to appreciate tommy in a way no one will ever even have the fucking chance to. 

his mind is _gone_ with the way tommy’s body so perfectly hugs his cock, milking all he can out of him, slippery skin rubbing up against every vein. wilbur almost sobs at the feeling, biting hard into his neck. 

“mine,” he starts to mutter, ignoring the way a high-pitched noise resonates from tommy’s throat when he does, the fingers in wilbur’s hold spasming. “fuck, toms, you’re so pretty-- perfect, marvelous--” 

“please, wilbur, i- i wanna--” wilbur shushes him, picking up the pace.

his hips snap up with every word. “don’t finish without my express permission,” he hisses.

meanwhile he blesses l’manberg for giving him this, the ability to press tommy tight against his body and pleasure him and have a kid so usually unattainable at his complete surrender, the captain commanding his militia, his dick slid between tommy’s body, _his his his_ and he’s coming undone, cum dripping all over tommy’s naked thighs while he’s dressed to the nines, while tommy is deprived of the release he craves.

wilbur pushes tommy off the chair carelessly, grinning at the way tommy’s mouth parts in confusion, a pained whimper leaving his lips. he revels in the sight - tommy, still wearing his crumpled l’manberg hat, is naked and spread open, lotion and cum streaking his quaking thighs, tiny dick arching over his stomach, sides bruised from wilbur’s hold, completely beautiful. slutty. 

“whore,” he addresses, standing up, then continuing: “you were exceptional today, don’t you agree?”

“u-uh huh?” dazed, tommy looks up at wilbur. probably just then realizing how exposed he is, tommy tucks a hand between his thighs and slams them shut, eyes glancing back-and-forth between his dick and at wilbur, like he’s asking for permission to play with himself. 

crouching down, wilbur wrenches tommy’s hands away and abruptly grips tommy’s cock. he gasps, and the most melodic of pleas befalls his lips, begging wilbur to let him cum. “only because you’ve been good today,” he says, chuckling. 

his finger digs into the slit of tommy’s cock and that’s all it takes for tommy to tip over, streaks of cum shooting onto his stomach. he continues to fuck into wilbur’s fist through his orgasm, then trying to crawl away when it becomes too much, only for wilbur to drag him closer and squeeze out every last drop. wilbur relents when the first sob wracks tommy apart, and he feigns that he’s completely done before sneaking a small kiss to tommy’s spent cock. 

he seriously considers fucking tommy again after hearing him sniffle. 

“i’m proud of you, toms,” wilbur says after a minute. he crawls on top of tommy and kisses him, teasing him with gentle suckling on his lip before pulling back. a string of spit connects their mouths. “you did good. you’re finished now.” 

after departing from their position, wilbur again stands up. this time he cleans what little had gotten on him and fixes his clothing. the rest of it is standard; by the time he’s done, it looks like nothing ever happened, besides tommy’s obvious existence. 

eyes swinging to face him, tommy has attempted to put himself back together, but it just isn’t working. tommy’s wiped off his thighs with his jacket but underneath they’re still red and abused, like the dick hanging limply between his legs, or the tear marks painting his blushing face. 

as much as he’d like to pamper tommy (or run him into the ground), wilbur needs this to remain a service, so there’s a reason tommy doesn’t go off running. speaking of which-

“this is to remain a cabinet secret.” tommy looks up, understanding just barely evident in the haze clouding his iris. “alright?” 

it takes him a second. “of course, big man,” his gorgeous, wonderful tommy says, and wilbur can almost believe it’s genuine. really, he’s quite impressed with how easily tommy slips into his mask. 

wilbur hums. whatever makes it easier for him.

**Author's Note:**

> this one-shot got the better of me which is why it’s a little all over the place lmao. hope y’all problematics got a kick out of it anyways <3


End file.
